Maybe You'll Dance
by talcumpowder
Summary: If he could dance, Demyx thought, then maybe it would all be okay. Demyx/Milo, sequel to Kiss the Sea.


**Pre-Notes:** So, if you haven't read _Kiss the Sea_, go read it now! Because this make more sense once you've read that, though neither makes very much sense to begin with.**  
Disclaimer:** Honestly, half the characters wouldn't have _names_ if I owned it.**  
Summary:** If he could dance, Demyx thought, then maybe it would all be okay.

* * *

**Maybe You'll Dance**  
"_Finding the perfect man? Like finding Atlantis._"

Demyx loved Milo with all of his heart. And no, it wasn't that his heart was non-existent. It was simply that the father he walked, the more that time passed . . . Well, the more his heart died. He could feel it failing, even now. Even as he watched Milo look over the journal with such care, such meticulous attention to detail, Demyx's heart was dying.

Sure, Demyx could carve a heart from craving, carnal desire, memories, music . . . But it wasn't a _heart_. And they were different as night and day. Because with a dying dying _dying _heart, how could he give the one he loved so so so much what he needed? There wasn't enough love in the world to give Milo in the first place—Demyx felt like such a horrible person for not even being able to give Milo his heart. He wished he could, he honestly and truly did.

What was there to give though? Shattered remnants. Milo didn't deserve that. Milo deserved Myde, but he'd never get that—now would he? Horrible. That's what Demyx was.

* * *

It figured he'd die on a sunny day. It wouldn't have been proper if it had been raining. Rain rain come and stay, rain rain don't ever go away . . .

Myde looked up and hoped—prayed—that wherever Milo was now, he didn't miss him. He hoped that it was raining in London, he hoped it was raining so that Milo knew he'd be okay. It wasn't like he'd meant to get attacked by that black thing, it wasn't like he'd seen it coming. But he was okay, he would die in peace, left out in a alleyway somewhere like so much rotting, decaying trash. Milo was safe—Myde knew this somewhere deep within his heart—and that was enough.

He never saw the darkness creeping towards him—never saw the hideous creatures step in to claim something that was never theirs to begin with.

* * *

They were on a submarine, from the old man that had held the book. Demyx had bargained with him, bargained for the chance to bring Milo and hand him the book. It was worth it, so totally worth it, to see the bright smile on Milo's face. _Atlantis_.

Demyx had never heard a sweeter word.

* * *

"Where's Milo?"

The hooded man who stood in front of Myde didn't answer. He simply yanked Myde up by the arm and dragged him off to god knows where. It was raining, which Myde thought was highly inappropriate. If Milo wasn't there to share the rain with him, then what point was there to the rain? No meaning, just like now. Exactly like now, really.

Myde was 85% sure that they were going to a castle. He didn't protest. He'd find Milo eventually. He'd find Milo if it was the very last thing he ever had to do, because Milo was everything. And even if Myde was fairly sure this was an afterlife and he might not find Milo, he could still look. There was no harm in looking—right? Surely he could—those were not pearly gates.

He had known that the nuns were lying. Milo had told him they were just telling him what was in the Bible, but Myde had always thought that God seemed too uppity to welcome everyone. And Myde was right. The white white white castle before him loomed. It almost seemed like it was mocking his death, the loss of all the things he loved.

* * *

Atlantis was really very beautiful. Demyx already knew that, he'd checked Atlantis out when he'd heard of it—along with Atlantica. It had sounded like Atlantis and Demyx figured if Milo was anywhere, he must be in Atlantis. So he hadn't cared when the Superior had looked at him strangely for actually accepting a mission, this was important. Milo was important. Milo didn't make him fight such useless battles, go on such useless missions . . . Milo didn't spend hours rambling about a moon that no one cared about.

Milo talked about languages, Milo was talking about languages now, and that was something Demyx cared about. Sure, he wanted his heart back. He wanted Milo back more. Even if he couldn't ever really have Milo back, this was enough. Standing besides him, helping him make the best discovery of all-time . . . That was definitely worth all the crap he'd get when it happened. When it went down. He looked away from Milo for a precious moment, looked away to blink away, and probably made it rain in all of London. He never did have as much control over his powers. Funnily enough, his lack of powers seemed to stem from Milo. Milo made it rain.

None of the others understood.

* * *

It rained for two weeks straight. Not just a light drizzle, like it sometimes was, but heavy heavy rains. The kind that Myde's cousin told him they got in the tropics—though he was absolutely certain that this was not the tropics and it really shouldn't be raining. Didn't seem like the curtain of rain was natural. It seemed like the sky was infinitely sad about something something something did any one know what?

Myde had a sneaking suspicion that everyone knew but him.

"IX, stop slacking off. There's another meeting in ten minutes."

It was just one of the voices—Myde hadn't bothered to learn the differences just yet—telling him. He flipped up his hood because everyone always stared at him when there were meetings and walked. The "portals" that everyone else used bothered him. He had lived his entire life walking to places and he damned well wasn't going to stop now. Using the inky holes of black to travel . . . It made all of what they'd told him real. He didn't want any of it to be real.

Real, at this point, was bad. Real meant that all of those awful things they'd said were true. Myde might've sniffled and if he had bothered to look, he might've noticed the rain pouring harder.

"IX, could you walk _any_ slower?"

Myde hurried a little. He didn't want them to be more annoyed with him than they already were.

* * *

The girl—what was her name?-Kida or something, she showed Milo around. Demyx followed, sort-of like an abandoned puppy that still loved its master. Not that Demyx didn't know that Milo loved him! He just knew that Milo was much, much more interested in Atlantis than him. It was just plainly the way it was and Demyx knew that.

Kida, however, worried him. She had a strange look in her eye, he didn't like the way she looked at Milo, she wasn't allowed to act like that . . . A thousand strings of words—hateful ones—to protect his Milo. Even if Milo was really Myde's, Myde was Demyx on some level, right?

* * *

"You're supposed to be CONTROLLING them, not spraying water everywhere! Dumbass."

He hated training. He really did. If anything besides Milo was missed more, it was days when he wasn't so horribly bruised from verbal and physical shards. He couldn't even tell who was inflicting the pain any more. All he knew . . . All he knew was he wanted it to stop.

Myde fell the the floor and the room flooded. The ceiling shed the tears he could not.

* * *

When they returned, after saving Atlantis, Demyx chewed on his lip. It was. He couldn't. There wasn't—it was slightly overcast. Demyx squeezed his eyes shut and suddenly it was raining lightly because that was something he could do for Milo. He couldn't do much else—couldn't ignore the orders for much longer. Couldn't keep pretending his heart wasn't dying.

It was bad enough that he had taken Milo to Atlantis instead of just. Doing what he was supposed to. He was only supposed to follow orders—wasn't supposed to feel, love, kiss or touch. Demyx was never very good at following rules. Rules made it all real and it wasn't real until he finished the mission. Demyx pulled Milo close one last time and kissed the top of his head.

"I'm sorry, 'lo," Demyx whispered as he moved away, "I'm so so_ so_ sorry."  
"Sorry for what?"  
"Maybe you'll dance one day, 'lo. Maybe you'll dance."

Before he could think much more, Demyx summoned the monsters that had once claimed his own heart and turned away. He hated following orders, but at least this way Milo would always be near him. That was all he wanted. That was all he needed.

And, if London flooded while it happened, Demyx blamed it on his inability to keep his heart from dying. He didn't—couldn't—care any more.

* * *

**Postit-notes: **Apparently I only write myself Demyx/Milo for my birthday. And apparently I can't finish a fic in a timely manner unless I am sufficiently tired/plastered/no one dies. :|


End file.
